


this bright star (has burnt up everything it used to be)

by Serie11



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Blood and Gore, Body Dysphoria, Body Horror, Developing Friendships, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Golden Deer Route, Gen, Killing, Nonbinary My Unit | Byleth, POV Second Person, Pre-Time Skip, Psychological Trauma, Worldbuilding, everyone is worried about Byleth, go crazy go feral
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-10-27
Packaged: 2020-10-04 18:55:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20475914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Serie11/pseuds/Serie11
Summary: The golden dust rushes through you, into you,becomesyou, and youbreak.Byleth is buried. A star rises instead, burning up everything that cannot coexist with the new power coursing through every atom of your being, pressing every little contrary piece out of existence like it was never there in the first place.You cannot be a human and possess this power at the same time, so you become something else instead.





	1. Chapter 1

“What shall you do?”

It’s more than a question of how you’re going to act in the next few seconds; if you’ll accept the power Sothis is offering, or not. You’ve already answered, and Sothis has already agreed. Instead, her expression is particularly unreadable as she offers this final, looming riddle: with the power of a goddess, _what shall you do? _

You do not want to go on without her by your side, her whisper in your ear. Losing your father, and then her as well is already a lance in your heart, even though you can still see her, walking towards you. Her presence is as ethereal and heart-stopping as always, but she is already gone. Just like the passing of time, she exists here for only as long as she wishes it.

But your enemy has given you little choice. You meet her eyes, and smile, and some of her trepidation fades slightly. You did not even realise it was there until it was gone – what else have you failed to see? You reach out your hand, to touch, to grab, to hold – you’ve never touched her before. You want to, before she is gone.

You don’t get that chance.

Sothis fizzes into golden dust and you breathe it in, sharp little spikes of electricity where it touches your skin, on the edge of being painful. You close your eyes and feel her nestle deeper in you than where she normally sits, until you can’t feel her at all anymore. Gone, just like the endless stretch of time behind you. You only have half a second to grieve, because –

The golden dust rushes through you, into you, _becomes _you, and you _break._

Byleth is buried. A star rises instead, burning up everything that cannot coexist with the new power coursing through every atom of your being, pressing every little contrary piece out of existence like it was never there in the first place. You cannot be a human and have this power at the same time, so you become something else instead. You feel the fading potential of Sothis’s throne, its supremacy extended. There is nothing else in this place of nothingness, nothing to tie yourself to or feed yourself with, besides the sword at your side.

The Sword of the Creator latches onto the power hungrily. It shines, brighter and brighter, sucking in the excess energy that is having trouble settling into your bones. Even as you choke on it, you recognise how Sothis has been shaping you, preparing you for this moment. The goddess of time, indeed. Somehow, she must have seen this. If you were any other human, there would be no chance of this succeeding – it would have ripped through you, any paltry resistance you could have mustered brushed aside without any effort, your slight life force only seen as fuel. But with the power of Sothis’s will, and with her guidance, and with her hand shaping your fate, you feel it anchor in you, latch deep into your soul, change the makeup of your being to suit its purpose and form. You stretch, and grow and shrink, the howling wind shearing away pieces of you that are no longer needed (even if they are wanted).

The Sword of the Creator glows. You open your eyes, unsheathe your sword, and tear a hole in the fabric of the universe.

You pour the seething power into the sword, and the tear grows wider, deep enough for you to pass through. Another journey a mortal would not survive. You land where you were dismissed from, and still the battle rages around you, your students facing off against the enemy combatants. You nearly buckle immediately from the sensory input – there is so much _life _here, so much to observe and feel and know. Something inside you knows this, and you vaguely recognise the way it starts to shift the power, focusing on _hereandnow _instead of _faranddistant. _

It is not easy. This new shape does not particularly care for any of the specks you can feel, but you focus every drop of your will into marking all of your students as _protect _and all of the enemies as _kill. _You will not let this power master you, not when you need it the most, not when you have done this for your students, your friends. They need you, and _you will not fail them. _

You see Solon, and a feral rage rises within you, something far more potent than you ever experienced as a human. Is it the power, or just how vulnerable you are feeling right now, after being ripped apart and put back together? It does not matter. _None of this would have happened if it weren’t for him. You would still be _human_ if it weren’t for him. _You cannot change what has happened, but you can make him _pay. _

You need no more convincing. You are here to save your students, to take down this threat that has ended your life. You will not let it end theirs. The price you have paid is far too steep for you to fail now.

It is the work of half a thought to approach the nearest enemy, and you slice him in half like he’s a piece of paper, waifish and pathetic. The Sword of the Creator hums in appreciation, the dark gleam of blood shimmering like the magic you can feel surrounding you. You look for your next target, and the next – maybe if you act fast enough, that will stop the mountain of sensations you are drowning under, your every sense on fire. You do not know if you are dying, or if you are surviving and if this is just how you live now – there is only this second, and the next, and the next. Your heartbeat now follows no human reasoning, but echoes the thump of time itself. You grieve the loss of your body, of what you used to be, and you pour that grief into the battle.

You scream as you rip your sword through the next enemy, chasing the fleeing battalion, everything blurry. You track the heat of life, and you end it with a shear of your blade. All life is precious. All death is precious too, you think, as you pin a woman to the ground and thrust your sword through her teeth. Just as new life is created, so must old life end. That too, is the progress of time.

Your class is trying to keep up with you, but the thick forest is hampering their speed. You can’t bring yourself to care. You run faster than you ever have before, and the units you face fall before you can focus your attention on them. You tackle a beast all by yourself and feel like you sully all the humans nearby with the monstrosity of your twin presence, snarling and spitting and tearing into each other, every swipe of your claws a testement to how inhumane you are. You may only have your sword as a claw, but you use it with more than enough viciousness to make up for it. The beast falls and you swallow the life that leaves its body, feeling it suck deep into you. The sword takes it, of course. You are far more alike to this sword than to any other human in this forest, now. It is a part of you, just like the power running through your blood. Sothis’s crest – of course, you’ve always had a taste of her power. You just didn’t know it.

The Sword of the Creator is in your hands, lively at the taste of blood. You have been wary of using it before now. It thrums with power, a power you are only now being to understand. It drinks in the blood you give it, and demands more, more.

You give it. Maybe this will still the howling chasm within you.

You cleave through the army. You rain down blows, anything to distract from the terrifying, gaping maw that you have awoken within yourself, a pit that you cannot see the bottom of. You can hear the movement of the tides, know the axis of the earth as it rotates around the sun. A human would not know this. A human would not be full of creeping, unfilled need, lust for the taste of any feeling, the fear of unending years spiralling out in front of you. You fight until you are standing in front of Solon, and you still cannot see. You are crying, you realise. It’s a distant revelation. Mere physical input no longer means much, not when you are trying to parse the whispering of the forest, the formation of clouds in the sky.

“I am terrified of you,” Solon says, and you can feel the black ooze of his life, and it makes you gag. There is no hesitation as you run him through, and the wash of his magic only makes your nose wrinkle. Magic… you know magic. You are magic, now. They cannot harm you with that anymore. No more than they can harm the earth under their feet.

You wonder if this is why Sothis remembered nothing – if this was why she was in that place of darkness, where there was nothing to feel. You always thought it was lonely, but now you think that you envy her. No wonder she forgot. You are being assaulted from every side, sensations running under your tongue, through your blood, into your soul. With every sense you wrangle into submission, two more spring forth to bury you, heavy over your shoulders and dragging you down.

You throw Solon’s body away, watches as it crumples into dust. You do not care. You can smell thousands of scents on the breeze, hear the pounding of footsteps behind you. You sink to the ground, knees hitting it heavily. You do not feel any pain – can you feel any pain anymore? You do not know if this body is trapping you, or protecting you.

Someone puts their hand on your shoulder. You blink and see Claude, with your other students milling aimlessly now that the fighting has finished. _You_ finished it – did any of them enter a fight with any of the second wave of soldiers?

“Teach? Teach, what’s wrong? What happened? Who… are you mourning?”

You are aware of the beating of your heart, but you also know that you are more than that now. You are the pulse of the earth, the slow shifting of the sea, the roiling life that runs rampant across the plains. You are the wind in the trees and the slow unfurling of new growth after a fire. You are the tick of time: the heartbeats of your students are a countdown that you are intimately aware of, a pulse you cannot ignore.

You look up at Claude, and the rampant worry on his face is visible even through your tears. You lift an arm to wipe at your eyes clumsily, and gasp in a steadying breath. You push your hair out of your eyes, trying not to focus on how bleached it is, how you can feel power running through every thread of your being. You try to remember what if felt like, to be a human, to talk. It feels so very far away.

“Just myself, Claude,” you tell him, after remembering how to speak. You stab the Sword of the Creator into the ground and use it to heave yourself to your feet. Behind Claude are the rest of the Golden Deer. All of them are scared. You can tell, from the rapid thumping of their hearts, the speed only hastening their deaths, the ticking of their countdown quickening. Is that all you’re good for now – keeping track of when their deaths will come for them? “Just myself.”

There is nothing else for you to say.

“Teach? Teach! Professor! _Byleth!_”

You cannot stop your eyes sliding shut, as you fall into the abyss.

You welcome the darkness. It is the kindest thing that has ever happened to you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've only just finished chapter 11 so pls no spoilers!! I just had to write this because I just think that Byleth deserved to go a little (a LOT) feral during the second half of chapter 10. This might get another chapter later if I get around to it. Hope you enjoyed!


	2. Chapter 2

Claude doesn’t think he’s ever been as stressed as he is now, riding back from this mission. He doesn’t know if he can call it a disaster, as such – no one died, the goal was accomplished, they’re headed back seemingly none the worse for wear. But the professor is cradled in Raphael’s arms, and has not stirred since giving that dreadful proclamation.

_Just myself. _

The eerie sight of Teach carving through those enemy factions, tears running down their face all the while, had set everyone on edge. Even Hilda, who is normally the chattiest out of everyone, is quiet. Marianne and Flayn are taking turns in casting healing magic over the professor, but if the magic is having any effect then Claude can’t see it. It will take them three days to reach the Monastery, and while Claude has his misgivings about the church he’s sure that Byleth will get the best treatment there. He’s already planning – what shortcuts they could take, how much faster they could arrive if he pushes them all to travel an hour more and get up an hour earlier.

He’s at the point where he’s sure that none of the others would mind. Ignatz has a grey pallor to his face, and while Raphael isn’t complaining about having to carry their professor, Claude can see the shadows of stress in his eyes that have nothing to do with how tired he is. Hilda is micromanaging the battalions far more closely than normal. Marianne looks like the shadows under her eyes have been painted there. Leonie hasn’t spoken since Teach fell unconscious. Flayn is casting a healing spell over them every time he looks. They’re all worried.

He looks up to where Leonie is leading their group, proud and straight on her courser. He can see that she’s holding herself together with her sheer determination, and resolves to follow her example. Lysithea is perched behind her saddle, balancing perfectly while she reads. Anyone else could have taken her apparent aloofness as lack of care, but Claude knows that she’s reading the book on white magic that Byleth lent her a few months ago. She’s been carrying it around since then, despite her lack of interest in healing, because the professor keeps trying to instruct her in it. Now that she can’t help Marianne and Flayn, and even Lorenz when he comes back from patrol, she’s reading it.

Too little, too late. Even if she said that she wanted to try and help, Claude wouldn’t let her touch Teach as a trial run.

Marianne comes up beside him, patting the flank of his horse fondly, murmuring something under her breath that he doesn’t catch. She mustn’t have been talking to him, then. “Any change?” he asks, forcing his voice to levelness. He is a leader, and in charge now that the professor is unconscious. Everyone is watching him for cues as to how to behave. He has to step up and be an example for them all. He really doubts that this is the last time that he’s going to have to do this, if he really is going to become the leader of the Leicester Alliance. Might as well get some practise in now.

Marianne shakes her head slowly. “They don’t move, and hardly breathe. And their colour...”

Claude stares ahead so that he doesn’t look behind. The colour is the thing that’s freaking all of them out the most, especially poor Lysithea. It makes him uneasy, he has to admit. It’s not… natural. 

“It’s stable?”

Marianne hesitates before she nods. “It hasn’t changed since...”

“Since it changed.” Claude keeps his chin high. The clouds are growing darker, threatening rain. If it starts raining, he’ll have to call a halt. He doesn’t have _time_ for this.

Marianne is still at his side, even though normally she would have faded away by now. He looks at her out of the corner of his eye. She’s biting her lip, considering.

“Anything else?” he asks as lightly as he can. Marianne spooks easily, and he doesn’t want that.

“Animals are often more sensitive to things than humans are,” Marianne starts, hesitantly. Claude turns his head to look at her, considering.

“Their hearing and ability to smell is a cut above us,” he acknowledges, when she doesn’t continue.

“They can tell when things are strange, or different, even when we cannot. But when the change is so great that people can see it as well… the change is overwhelming to the animals. And the… way they are acting, tells me that even a larger change than we can see has happened.”

Unease circles in his gut. Solon has claimed that it would need a god’s power to escape his spell... Marianne had heard that, since she’d been supporting him in his battalion as his adjunct. What had their professor done?

“I’ll keep it mind,” he murmurs.

“I’m worried,” Marianne says, clasping her hands together. She’s speaking so quietly that Claude has to lean down to hear her. “When I heal them… it does nothing.”

Claude mulls that over for several seconds. “Keep trying – you might be doing some good, even if you can’t tell. And don’t mention it to the others who aren’t also healers. I don’t want to start a panic.”

Marianne nods, and her eyes go to the sword strapped to Claude’s back before she falls back to walk with Hilda. Claude adjusts his weight and feels the sword move slightly, its edge digging into him. The thing is _heavy _– he has no idea how Teach carts it around as easily as they do. He’s seen them lift it with a single hand, without putting much thought into it at all. Claude knows that his Crest isn’t compatible with the blade, but he should still be able to wield it. That’s how all the other relics work. Unless there’s something different about this one, too… Either way, there’s no chance of him lifting it in battle. He’s just keeping it safe, that’s all.

He tries to banish the thought of Byleth’s open mouthed snarl, two hands gripping a blade that was glowing with more power than he’d ever seen. A sword that can cut mountains… can the legend really be true? After seeing Byleth in action like that, he isn’t sure if he can really bring himself to doubt it.

* * *

There is space between the stars.

You never knew that. Well, you suppose you did. But you never took the time to think about it. Your father was always the one you looked to, as to how to spend your time. And he was a practical man, always so focused on the future. Always fixing and mending and mentoring, always looking forward, not up. You wonder what he would think of you now.

There is space between the stars. They’re quite far away, so you can only catch glimpses and flashes of them, pure energy, fuelling themselves with themselves, chewing away on their own power until they burn out. There are more of them out there than any human eye could ever see, and you let yourself wander among them. The body you now possess is a fragile thing, so prone to wants and needs and desires. Around it are sparks of life, humming with _protectprotectprotect. _You put that there – it must just be your students, then. You cannot make out who exactly, but there are several of them and that must be enough for you. Besides, the stars are here, and they demand nothing. You feel so hollowed out – you aren’t sure if you have anything left to give. You’re content, to simply drift here, almost at peace.

That’s about when you realise that you aren’t breathing.

You flinch, and open your mouth to gasp in air, the remaining scraps of your humanity crying out for this one, essential action. You choke on nothing as your lungs are suddenly full again, and you scrabble around, dislodging the blanket that had been drawn over you. The bright spots of life are buzzing around you, distraught, but you cannot pay them any attention, not when you are suddenly bombarded by the sensation of rain falling on leaves, of vibrations in the air that you are trying to parse as voices.

Almost desperately, you hold your breath again to try and still your coughing. If you can stop at least that, maybe you can concentrate on everything else. To your horror, you don’t feel the tightening in your chest that you remember from holding your breath. Instead, the sensations around you slowly fade, until you can hear voices again.

“Professor, what’s wrong?”

“Are you okay?”

“Talk to us!”

“Can you hear me?”

“How are you feeling?”

“If you just _move_, I could heal them!”

“Sorry, I was just trying –”

“I know, just get out of the way!”

You don’t need to breathe.

You flex your fingers in the dirt – someone has taken your gloves off. You can feel every grain of soil under your skin, the history of the earth singing to you quietly.

_You don’t need to breathe. _

You stare at the ground and you don’t need to breathe. The thing in your chest still beats, but it is far, far slower than it used to be. You can count the seconds between each slow thump. You wonder what would happen if you took your dagger out and sliced open your skin. Would red blood still come out, or would it be something else?

A gentle wash of magic full of good intentions washes over you, but it does nothing. There is nothing to heal – you are now completely self-sufficient, relying on no one and nothing else. You are like one of the stars in the sky, bright and burning up only yourself, needing nothing else. You claw your fingers through the earth, disrupting it and leaving furrows behind, needing to make some lasting impact that you can see to prove that you’re _real_.

“Teach?”

With Claude’s voice, you finally look up. You meet his eyes, and are overwhelmed with the _protectprotectprotect _tag that you placed on him earlier. You shudder, and reach out to touch him – if you touch him, you will _know _him. Claude takes your hand and he is bright and caring and so full of ambition. You press _Claude _into the edges of his soul, a permanent mark that will identify him to anyone who knows how to look.

All the blood rushes out of his face, and his legs go out from under him. You let go of his hand and the others swarm around him as well, touching him and reassuring him. You sit with your legs curled up awkwardly underneath you and watch them. It’s hard to differentiate them since they are still a mess of _protectprotectprotect, _with _ClaudeClaudeClaude _in the middle. You reach out blindly and catch someone’s arm, and you feel the burning desire to prove yourself, to provide for those that you care about and to make a mark on history so everyone will know your name, and you call out _Leonie _so strongly that she falls over.

“Professor!”

You see your sword, strapped to Claude’s back, and you frown slightly, puzzled. That’s _your _sword – Claude can protect it, but it should be with you. Especially since you think a good part of Sothis’s power found its way into the blade. You doubt it’s safe for human hands anymore – if it had ever been.

You reach out for it, and just as you’re about to touch it, it’s yanked away by someone else.

“I don’t think it’s okay for you to have that right now!” Lysithea says, face all scrunched up. You can tell that she’s about to cry, but also that fear is pounding under her skin, adrenaline rushing through her at the sight of you and of Claude and Leonie.

“Professor, hey, let’s just –”

Raphael touches you and he is shining, revelling in the now while planning for the later, and full of love for his sister and his friends. You leave your mark on him in the form of his name and even he staggers at your touch.

“It’s okay,” you tell them. It’s so easy to add a flicker of power to your voice, so that it reaches them, convinces them. It would be so easy to tell them all to do what you say and they would obey you – they would have no choice. What a help that will be in your lectures –

In your –

In –

You put your hands on your face and if you could remember how, you would be screaming. _What _are you, now? What has happened to you? Was this really what Sothis intended? You woke up disorientated – you still are disorientated, really, except for the part of you that knows exactly where you are and exactly who you are surrounded by and exactly what time it is, exactly where the earth is as it rotates the sun. You still are not breathing. You dig your fingers into your skin, and the pinpricks remind you that you still possess a body, that you are more than what you can feel, what you know.

You are _Byleth. _And you are better than this.

You rise to your feet, effortlessly levitating off the ground to stand. All nine of your young students are here – the six still on their feet all have fear snaking through them, to various degrees. Ignatz is one word away from passing out of his own volition.

You force yourself to take a breath, and the sensation of the moon in the sky doubles. You stop breathing, and it fades. It only takes you a second to think that through – this body is still _alive. _It still needs things like food and sleep and air. But if it cannot get them, it will rely on the inner power that is now fuelling it, and less on other things. What is most essential to you? If you can rely on the power to manage that, maybe that will free the rest of you from all these burning sensations.

Carefully, you stop your heart, and feel time freeze.

The camp is caught in shadows of blacks and purples, every person frozen in the middle of what they were doing. _Ah_, you think quietly to yourself, and you reverse time as gently as you can, feeling out the edges of this power. Sothis never told you about this side of it – how every time you looked to her for assistance, you were asking her to kill a part of herself. It makes sense. Time cannot be changed, only unwound. It is a careful twist of threads, and you can cut the knots. But that does not mean they cease to exist. You hold the lost seconds deep within your soul, and feel them settle together with another thousand threads of lost possibilities. 

“Teach?” Claude asks, and you look up. Rewinding time must have taken some power, because you finally feel like you can think.

“Claude,” you say quietly.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, and the mark you placed on his soul is still there, humming quietly. He cannot remember the shock of receiving it, but some things cannot be undone.

You reach out and touch Flayn, and are overcome with the secret she hides so closely that she’s suffocating herself. _Flayn, _you call out to her, and with her constitution she doesn’t fall. The both of you recognise each other in that moment, and something like horror flashes across her face.

“Byleth,” she begs, and you can only shake your head and turn back time.

After you have marked them all, you tiredly reverse time as far as you are able. You stare up at the stars and instead of being surrounded by _protectprotectprotect _there is _RaphaelIgnatzFlaynLeonieLorenz. _Further away are the calls of _Claude _and _Marianne _and _Lysithea _and _Hilda. _Even further away are other specks of life that you have marked – they must be Catherine and Shamir. Patrolling the perimeter, probably. 

Your head hurts.

You manage to open your mouth and make a gurgling sound.

“Flayn!” Leonie yells. “They’re awake!”

Flayn casts heal over you but you manage to shake your head.

“S…sword…” you whisper. Ignatz and Lorenz exchange a quick and uneasy glance, and Raphael’s expression darkens.

“Claude said it might not be a good idea for you to have it, Professor,” he rumbles. “At least, not until we know more about what’s going on.”

Your eyes slip shut. You’ve used too much power, far more that you should have, but how could you have done nothing when they were right in front of you, unnamed and unclaimed?

“Sword,” you whisper yet again, and Flayn’s hand finds your pulse, hovers over your mouth.

“They’re not breathing!” she exclaims shrilly.

Chaos briefly overturns the camp. You are so tired… Sothis was always tired. Sothis was always sleeping. You miss her. If she was here, none of this would be a problem. She would just shake her head and lash out with her sharp tongue, and you would leave the conversation feeling slightly cowed but awed that such a being is looking after you.

The arguing over your body reaches a higher pitch, and Marianne and Lorenz’s magic feeds into you. It’s sustaining, but not in the way they think – you take a little of their life force with each cast of their magic, and that’s really what’s giving you more energy.

Claude touches your hand, and your eyes fly open as you snatch the Sword of the Creator from him. It glows hot red immediately, and you greedily suck energy from it, feeling it fill you.

When you stop taking, it stops giving. Curiously, you poke at it and find it depleted. When you channel energy into it, it takes it.

An energy source of some sort, that can take and give power as you direct. Your lips flex into a smile for a bare instant, and you open your eyes to find Claude rubbing at his palm uneasily. The rest of the Golden Deer are here as well, but you are so tired.

“Sleepy,” you murmur.

“Come on Professor, that’s my line,” Hilda protests. There’s a wobble in her voice that you’ve never heard before. It doesn’t suit her.

You are exhausted, and yet that leaves you feeling almost human again. You look at their concerned faces and harden your will. You must master this, for their sake as well as your own. There is something going on, some deeper mystery that you are only just beginning to scratch the surface of. These humans are _yours_ and you will protect them. You close your eyes, and if you feel terrible, at least you feel like _yourself. _

“Good work… everyone…” you manage to say, before sleep claims you yet again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finished Golden Deer route and I have Thoughts... also more of this fic which is now a multichapter I suppose. Hope you enjoyed! More Golden Deer bonding coming soon~


	3. Chapter 3

_“In time’s flow…” _

Dappled sunlight falls over you, warming you where it touches. Fingers swirl above you, gentle magic caressing you. You feel it helping you settle into your skin, defining your edges. You had been having trouble differentiating the shape of your being and it had been so easy to bleed into the environment around you – but this definition helps. Shows you what you can immediately manipulate, without having to use any of your power at all. You are tied to this body, and now you know the exact definition of it. You know who you are.

_“See the glow, of flames ever burning bright…” _

You breathe in, and it doesn’t overwhelm you instantly. It feels natural again – a rhythm of the body that you can pick up where you left off. You breathe out, and note the flush of oxygen through your blood. You try to ignore all outward sensations, and focus on yourself; the shape of your fingers, the texture of your hair. Sothis’s power was poured into far too small of a vessel, but that does not mean that you will break. You will find a way to master this power. The first step is gaining control of yourself, and to do that you must know yourself.

_“On the swift river’s drift, broken memories alight…”_

Fingers trail just above your bared skin, a breath away from touching, and magic nips at your senses. It must be helping you contain yourself. You find the edges of yourself, and slowly, slowly pull yourself in. You let the knowledge of your being seep deep inside, where you will hopefully be able to call on it in a moment’s notice. You swallow, and move your head slightly. The singing trails off.

“Professor,” Rhea says, and an icy finger of dread drips down your spine. “You must remain still. Everything is alright. There is no need to worry.”

You blink up at her. She seems completely content, eyes closed as she casts another spell over you.

“What…”

“Those who are trying to harm you are far away,” she continues, as if you said nothing. She starts humming again, and smiles down at you. Your stomach drops. You are here, back at the monastery, in what looks like Rhea’s private quarters – and she is tempering you with her magic, teasing and twisting you into the shape that she desires. You do not know what her ultimate goal is here. Even if all she is doing is trying to return you to the state that you were (and you do _not _think that is her aim), this shape is what _you_ decide. No one has any say in what you will become, especially without asking you in the first place. She has simply taken you, whisked you away from your students and has decided what she _thinks _is correct.

And no one had opposed her.

You know that Rhea is the most influential person in the monastery – in the entire Church. But you have been raised outside of the Church’s influence, and your father had guarded you from the Church, even when you were both here at the monastery. But your father is gone, and Rhea knows something that you do not, and Rhea did something to you before you were even born. And here you are, under her power, without anyone at all who would stand against what she wants. And she wants _you. _For what purpose, you do not know. But you are certain that your father hid you for a reason. And you are certain that there is something that Rhea is hiding, and that something might not be something that you will like.

You realise that you are, simply put, absolutely fucked.

* * *

Rhea continues to sing until the sun casts its final rays upon your face, kissing you goodbye as they fall behind the horizon. She finally allows Seteth to enter the room when he knocks and tells her that it is time for her to attend dinner. You still feel dazed. You do not remember arriving at the monastery, and you do not remember gaining entrance to Rhea’s private chambers. You are discomforted, and you try not to appear too eager when Seteth asks if you can retire to your own quarters.

Rhea did not let your skin touch. You only realise this when you lean against Seteth and have to forcibly choke down his fear and worry and long term goals and desires. Already knowing who he is allows you to process his emotions and then forcibly block your sensation of them.

You lean on his arm as you escape Rhea’s humming, trying not to think of the sound as ominous. Your chest tightens when you find Claude and Hilda waiting outside, Claude clearly impatient and Hilda clearly hiding her distress. You must be exhausted, still – you did not feel your signature on them until you saw them with your eyes. Even so, missing them makes you feel a little more human.

“Teach,” Claude says, tilting his head and putting on his signature grin. You can feel the apprehension that beats under his skin. “Feeling better? Rhea said that she would able to give you a personal healing session.”

“Lady Rhea is one of the most accomplished healers at the monastery,” Hilda says, glancing between you and Seteth. “How are you feeling?”

You stare at them until you realise that you’re supposed to reply. “…better,” you say.

“Would you like to take your meal in the dining hall, or your quarters?” Seteth asks. “I’m sure either of these two would agree to run for food if you’d prefer that.”

You think of how your hunger is the only thing occupying the boundless power within you, and allowing you to keep your thoughts at the moment, and shake your head. “My quarters would be fine.”

“I’ll see to it, Professor,” Hilda says immediately.

“I’ll help you back to your room, then,” Claude volunteers. “We can take it from here, Seteth.”

“See that you do,” Seteth says, something that could be a warning in his voice. You are far too tired to try and parse it, or to even try and watch the quick glance that passes between Claude and Hilda. Claude comes up to stand beside you as Hilda and Seteth disappear, and when you are alone with him you lean against him. Claude takes your weight without mentioning it, and proceeds to lead to towards the nearest flight of stairs.

“I’d be tired out from hanging with Rhea too,” Claude murmurs lightly. “She tell you anything?”

You slowly shake your head. With your body so new to your awareness now, you’re overthinking how to walk – Claude is supporting you far more than he should have to. “What… did you tell them?”

You feel Claude’s attention on you. “Well… we don’t exactly know what happened to you. But there were a few clues that we could rely on. And with all the power you were flashing around, and the Sword of the Creator, well, it wasn’t too much of a stretch to think that something had happened, and that something was big. Rhea was the one who said the words, but we were already all thinking it.”

“What words?”

Claude helps you down the first few steps of the staircase. Your head still feels light, and every exposed piece of you tingles with magic. Rhea had been trailing her magic all over your skin, and when you think about it, you shudder.

“God touched,” Claude finally says. “You were calling out the goddess’s name in your sleep. It… wasn’t much of a leap.”

“Oh,” you say, and even your voice sounds different than you remember. Has it really changed as well, or can you just hear it more clearly now?

“How are you? Really?” Claude asks, and there is tension in his voice, and in his frame. He is almost quivering from how tightly wound he is, stress making his young eyes old.

“Better than in the forest,” you tell him, honestly.

He scoffs. “That’s not saying much, Teach.”

You have scraped your will together and your mind has a semblance of control over the immense power you now have stuffed inside you. “Good,” you say, instead of telling him that. “Good. And improving.” You _will _master this. “My sword – where is it?”

“We had to wrest it off you,” Claude says wryly. “Lysithea put it in your room. Raphael and Ignatz have been standing guard to make sure that no one… leaves any surprises for you.”

“Thank you,” you murmur. You reach the ground floor and Claude tugs you in the direction of your room. You never wished for the monastery to be smaller before now. Each step is an agony of making this body follow your orders, despite it wanting to collapse under the pressure of what you are holding. But this pressure is never going away – you must relearn how to walk, how to move. Claude does not comment upon how your stumbling slowly lessens, how by the time you arrive at your door you can walk for yourself. Raphael and Ignatz are there, but you barely greet them, intent upon what’s inside.

Claude opens your door and you immediately seek out the sword. It is on your desk, and you put a hand on its hilt. It seems undamaged by being separated from you, still humming away, content. You fumble for a second before you can sheathe it at your side, and immediately feel more grounded.

Claude is talking to the other two boys outside, and you contemplate whether you have the energy to go back out to talk to them, or if you can just collapse into your bed.

“Professor?”

You look back to find Hilda standing at the door, holding a bowl of soup that is gently steaming.

“I got you something light,” Hilda says, coming inside and gingerly putting the bowl down on your desk. It’s covered with lesson plans, a mess of notes and paper. Hilda starts shuffling them into rough piles, her tidying a nervous gesture. “You should eat something, even if you want to sleep first. We tried to feed you on the road, but you wouldn’t take anything other than water, even when Marianne charmed you. It was really strange.”

“Thank you, Hilda,” you say quietly. Just to reassure her, you take a seat and start eating.

“It’s hot –” Hilda starts, but you can barely feel the burn against your tongue. It’s good, actually – you put energy into healing yourself, and that slightly offsets the extra energy you are getting through the food. You eat it as quickly as you can.

You give the bowl back to Hilda and she takes it uneasily, fiddling with the spoon for several seconds before she looks up at you. “Are you okay, Professor?”

“I am fine,” you tell her. “But I would like to rest. Can you tell the others that there is no need to stand guard anymore? It is hardly necessary. The monastery is safe.”

“…right,” Hilda says. “I’ll tell them. Good night, Professor.”

“Good night.”

She leaves, and you lock the door after her. It would not stop most of them, but it will give you a moment’s notice if anyone attempts to enter. You shrug out of your cloak and take your armour off, but are too exhausted to change otherwise. You’re still mildly filthy, mud and blood encrusted over your skin where your students couldn’t easily get to it. You take your boots off and shuffle under the covers of you bed, curling into a loose ball and closing your eyes.

Claude, Raphael and Hilda are still standing outside. You don’t try to listen in on their conversation, but you can’t help but track their heartbeats, and the strong emotions they are emitting. All three of them are worried.

You sigh when they eventually leave. Tomorrow. You can talk to them more tomorrow, sort out everything else tomorrow. Until then, you can rest.


	4. Chapter 4

You don’t know if you sleep, exactly. Dozing is perhaps the best name you can give to it. The only reason you don’t move is habit. And you should perhaps at least _try _to sleep, to see if you can.

You lay in your bed with your eyes closed, and listen to the night movements of the monastery. There is some movement between the student’s rooms, and you watch them wryly. Some of them are more innocent than others – you are sure that Annette and Lysithea really are studying together until the early hours of the morning. While Sylvain and Felix… that’s a combination you couldn’t have predicted.

When the sun’s rays start to touch the sky, you deem it a proper time to rise. You suppose you feel better than when you went to bed, but maybe that’s just because you spent the night calibrating yourself. You did not sleep – maybe you don’t have to sleep, except when use of your powers exhausts you. Or maybe you slept for so long that you’ve stored it all up inside you, just like the sword. Or maybe you took extra power from the sword, and you’ll collapse later in the day. You don’t know – you look over to the corner where Sothis always used to float, looking over your work as you wrote down lesson plans and notes on your desk. It’s empty, just like the sudden hole in your heart. This isn’t something your new powers can fix. You just miss her. You lower your head and look at the sword instead. Something about it calls to you, even now.

Uneasily, you run your hand down the blade. You’d placed it on the chair next to your bed, within an arm’s length if you needed it. It glows under your touch, and you pull some more power from it. It still comes, and reluctantly you put it back. There might be a time where you need that power. Wasting it doesn’t seem like a good idea.

You glance at yourself in the mirror, and only slightly flinch as you catch yourself off guard. Gritting your teeth, you approach the mirror. This is really the first opportunity you’ve had to observe yourself. After a few seconds of staring, you admit that it’s unnerving. The eyes, especially. You pull several faces to try and see if that makes it any better, but each expression is more horrifying than the last. At least your teeth are the same, with that one annoying tooth near the front of your mouth that is tilted askew and points backwards. You put a finger on it, feel its sharpness. Maybe…

You carefully feel around your jaw, testing. The tooth that has always annoyed you is misaligned – you shift it so it’s straight, but that dislodges the teeth next to it. You spend several minutes attempting to sort them into the most efficient positions possible before you give up and simply take the tooth out. _That _allows for much more flexibility in how you can arrange them, and you end up taking out two more teeth that are sitting just under your gums at the back of your mouth. One of them had been upside down, and would likely have caused great trouble if it ever moved.

You spit the teeth out and don’t even taste any blood. The places where they had been are already healed, and there is far more uniformity and utility to the ones you left in place. You tilt your head as you examine at them. You’ve seen knocked out teeth before, have knocked people’s teeth out yourself, but it’s always been in the heat of the middle of battle. You’ve never had time to study them before. The bottoms of them are strangely curved.

You find an empty pouch and secret your teeth in the back of your closet. You don’t know if they’ll ever come in handy, but you can feel the hum of power in them. It’s probably unwise to leave them about where someone else will be able to find them.

You make yourself smile, and resist the urge to sigh in frustration as you realise that your lower jaw no longer sits correctly with your upper jaw. You close your eyes and rearrange your upper teeth as well, removing two more that are also hiding at the back of your mouth. You retrieve the pouch and place the two other teeth inside it as well, and finally return to your mirror.

Your hair is still an eerie, bleached off-white. It falls differently than it used to, as well. You touch it and think that you could return it to how it used to be, but surely that would scare your students unnecessarily. You are changed, and your hair is a good indication of that. You decide to leave it in its new cut and colour. It will remind you, as well.

Your eyes are a different story. They are a misty light green, so different to the dark blue that you remember. But even with your powers, you cannot change them. They are a reflection of what you now are, and you do not think you will ever be able to hide that. Uneasily, you realise that your skin is perfectly clear as well – not a slight hint of any acne. You check under your chin, where you fell when you were twelve and split your jaw open, but the scar from that is gone too. You roll up your sleeves to check for your training scars, your battle scars, any remnant of your past – it’s gone. It’s gone. It’s all gone. You look like Sothis, you think. This was one of the things that had made her look so young – perfect, pristine skin, without any of the flaws that an adult normally has. You tuck your hair behind your ear, and automatically heave a sigh of relief. Your ears are curved. Still human. 

There is still grime covering you, but experimentally you send the power to your skin and shake it off. A soft cloud of dust falls around your feet, but you feel clean. You look in the mirror for a few more seconds, and think about what you’ve become.

Appearance dealt with, you still don your normal armour. You need something to tie you to this body, or you’re half afraid that you’re going to float away. The armour isn’t heavy, but you can pretend it is. You shrug your tunic over your head and bury your nose in it for a second to try and centre yourself in the scent. It still reminds you of your father, and long days on the road. He was the one who bought this for you.

Still feeling clunky in a skin that was once natural to you, you leave your room.

* * *

“Hey Teach!”

You turn to face Claude. It’s nearly midday, and normally you would invite some of your students to eat with you. You enjoy seeing their faces as they dig into their favourite meals, and learning more about them over food. Now… you don’t know. You’re not hungry. You’ve been to the greenhouse to collect what produce has grown and reseed some areas, but that is out of habit more than anything. You’ve been drifting around the monastery grounds – you saw Catherine but didn’t ask her for any sword tips like you normally do. You can’t bring yourself to go to face Rhea and ask for instruction in your faith magic, which you normally try to make time for. The mere thought of it… makes your skin crawl.

“Claude,” you say, and even though you can hear how distant you sound, you don’t know how to change it.

His smile falters for a second, but then it’s back again. “Raphael and I thought that we could grab lunch together.” Claude drops his voice into a faux whisper. “Between you and me, I think he intends to stuff you with as much food as humanely possible.”

You stare at Claude and try to find the right words. But how are you supposed to explain that you don’t need to eat anymore? No, it’s more than that. You’re afraid of loosing the feral power hiding inside your breastbone, and you’re fairly sure that by not eating, you’re keeping it at bay.

Claude’s smile falters again, and this time he doesn’t try to keep the act up. “Teach? You doing alright?”

You look away, because he is young and even with all of the burning ambition inside of him, you do not want to place this burden on him. It is better, perhaps, for him to simply think that you’ve put him at a distance. You know too many things that you should not, and yet you don’t know the things that will allow to navigate these treacherous waters easily, and you do not want to give him something that could place him in danger.

“I’m as well as I can be,” you tell him, gentle as the breeze caressing the monastery grounds. Claude’s eyes grow shadowed as his sun dips below the horizon of his worries.

“Teach –”

“I’m as well as I can be,” you repeat, and you brush past him, still drifting. You don’t know what you’re searching for, exactly. Hopefully it’s out there – hopefully, you’ll know when you see it. Maybe you won’t. Maybe this drifting is all you have left…

Claude is at your elbow, still. You do not need to look at him to feel the tumult of his thoughts, how they twist over each other, wild and quicksilver fast.

“You don’t normally carry the Sword of the Creator when you’re walking around the monastery,” Claude says, and his voice is subdued. You stop and turn to him. His face is lowered, expression uneasy. When he finally raises his chin, there is a hint of desperation and fear in his eyes. “Teach… what happened to you?”

You look at him, and think of the ambition glowing so brightly – the purpose that he has tuned himself towards, the purpose that he aims towards with his every breath. He will leave this land, one day. You do not wish to distract him from his purpose. But still. You can give him something.

“You’ve read… my father’s diary,” you say, and Claude’s entire being sharpens.

“It’s connected?”

You burn with the knowledge that everything is connected. You can feel how there is water in the breath that Claude exhales, how that is caught by the wind, carried up to the sky to swirl into a cloud. How the food in the dining hall has come from every corner of Fódlan, how people have hunted the meat and raised the crops and discovered the wild greens.

“Yes,” you say simply, folding that knowledge away to linger deep inside your soul. “Claude… I fear there is a time of chaos that edges closer with each passing day. Are you ready to face it?”

Claude swallows, but his eyes glint with his determination. “I’ve been preparing for my whole life,” he says. “Whatever comes, I’m ready.”

“Good,” you tell him. You can feel his sincerity burning in his chest, his desire to further what he sees as right. “I’m glad to hear it.”

You do not know what exactly is going to happen. But you think that perhaps, you will be able to trust Claude to do what he must, and knowing that lets you bear the weight of the world on your shoulders a little easier.


	5. Chapter 5

After everything – after Edelgard shows who she is, after you have fought and battled for the monastery, after you have fought and battled and _lost, _after you were ripped to pieces by the spell you were foolish enough to think you could block –

You stitch yourself together.

It’s a slow process. Children grow in the womb for nine months, and it is a process that has been perfected over thousands and thousands of years, the body knowing what it has to do without any interference from the mother. You know nothing of how your insides function, nor of the delicate chemical balances you disrupt with every attempt you start. You were not a healer – you had some interest in white magic, some tentative skill, but that was only after Sothis gifted you her power. All you had to do was know that something was wrong, and push your power into restoring the balance that the body already knew, was already striving towards. You did not have to know the shape of the difference types of blood cells, or that electricity is the thing that powers your nervous system.

You have time to learn that, now.

You are suspended in the void, and you do not know how long you are there for. You do not grow weary of this work, of learning how to shape your hands, of how to overlay muscles on your bones. You have the power to reshape your body, and you have the time, and you have the willpower. So you work – not steadily. You fumble your way into solutions, and quickly find that you know less than nothing – you do not know what you do not know. You have to lean into the deeper knowledge inside you, the parts that don’t fit with what’s left of your humanity. Sothis knew this, and so you do as well. You just have to remember.

When you are done, and have tested your new body in all the ways you know how, you float in the void of nothingness and you rest. You do not know how long you have worked for, but now that you are no longer only burning determination, but have chemicals under your skin, things are simpler. You have reset your body, and your body demands time to recover and rebuild its resources. You are happy to give it that.

You might have slumbered forever like that, in a chasm of darkness and quiet, if not for the voice that brings your consciousness to awareness.

“Are you going to sleep like that forever? I thought you made a promise.”

A promise? You made many promises, over the time that you lived. They seem so fleeting, whispers of air and vibrations of sound. You are held within the clasp of the void. You seek the rejuvenation of sleep.

“Your body is ready. Your eyes must open now, and you must find the strength to stand upon those new legs of yours.”

This body is ready, yes. It has been for some time, you think. You are not sure – how long have you been asleep?

“Like so much rain, a pool of blood has fallen to the ground… As spears and arrows pierce the earth, it weeps. And even now… it weeps.”

You do nothing. What use have you for how the earth feels? The earth is not here, and you are not the earth. You try to ignore the voice, ready to retreat to the comfort of your slumber.

“In order to survive, they kill. And so, the people of this world are lost in abyss of suffering. They weep, as well.”

People… you knew people, didn’t you? You cared for them, as fiercely as it is possible to care about anything. They were yours, to guard and to protect. But you failed them. You tried to protect them, but you failed, and landed here instead, in the void. You move for the first time – you roll your shoulders, shift your tongue in your mouth, tighten your grip. You are holding something.

“The only one who truly knows the nature of such things is I… or rather, you.”

“…Me?” Hearing your own voice is strange. It sounds different to how you think, cadences and tone shaped by the ridges of your mouth, accent influenced by the many places you have visited across Fódlan. Yes… Fódlan. You remember now. A place that you have travelled across, a land that has cradled you and absorbed your blood many a time.

“Yes, you,” the voice says. You think it is starting to get rather annoyed. “I ask again – how long are you planning to sleep here? I thought you took pride in holding fast to your word. Is that not so?”

“A promise,” you say, and you are more certain. This eternal void – this is not where you are supposed to be. This body is ready, recreated by your own will and fed on the inverse energy of this place. But you do not need to be here any longer. It is time to go.

“Yes,” the voice says, and it is pleased now. “It is time for you to go. So go!”

You have done this before, but there is no rush this time. You feel around for the edges of the world, and peel back a place where they join. It is easy enough to push through, and to tumble into the cold, crisp shock of running water.

The river washes you away, and you let it take you where it must.

* * *

“Uh… hey there? Um… oh geez, I thought the dead bodies were done washing up on the riverbank. Wait, you moved! Hey, can you hear me? Are you alive?”

You blink open your eyes. You are still half submerged in the river, and there is sand crusted along one side of your face, and sand and river water in your mouth. The Sword of the Creator is in your hand, quiet but responsive to your testing touch. You are wearing no clothes.

At least you had the chance to reshape your body slightly in the abyss, you think wryly to yourself. Most of it was simply cosmetic, but you feel confident enough to stand, even though it takes you a few seconds. The man who found you goggles for a few seconds before looking back out at the river as if that will help him determine where you came from.

“Where… am I?”

“My farm… more broadly, the village at the base of what’s left of Garreg Mach Monastery.” The farmer is studiously not looking at you. “I’m not even going to ask how you got into this situation… do you want some clothes? I can probably find something that the kids outgrew. It won’t fit very well, but it’ll be something.”

You follow the farmer back to a small hut that has a small stream of smoke coming out of it. The farmer casts a look back over his shoulder. “Can you stay out here? Don’t want to shock my wife _too _much by bringing home some naked stranger…”

You nod, and he disappears inside. You dig your toes into the ground and try to read the lay of the land. The soil here is full of clay, not very good for sowing any crops. You gentle the earth slightly, sending all of the large rocks deep into the ground, and turning all the clay into arable soil. You can repay the farmer by doing that, at least. Using the power sends little shockwaves over your skin. That, more than anything wakes you up. You are here, you are awake and you are ready to find your students and figure out what is going on.

The life in this village is muted. There is little joy to be found in the souls of the people here, and the earth is as dull as they are. You can see the evidence of the battle that you fell in, cliffs torn asunder and the road half destroyed. But the damage feels… old.

Unsettled, you wait for the farmer to come back. When he does, you gratefully take the splotchy leggings and tunic that he hands you. The tunic is slightly torn on one side, but you smooth a hand over it and the fabric knits itself together. You feel a spike of fear, and look up to find the farmer suddenly much paler than he was.

“I… we have no spare shoes,” he stutters. His heartbeat is thundering in your ears.

“This is enough,” you tell him. “What year is it?”

“It’s the Ethereal Moon of the year 1185… tomorrow is the millennium festival, but no one is planning to celebrate it with the war going on. Not many blessings to count, and with the archbishop still missing and all… and I’m pretty sure that some thieves have set up in the monastery.”

Troublesome. But you made a promise, and you intend to keep it. Hopefully, you won’t be the only one arriving at the monastery tomorrow. And maybe your room might still have some of your things… clothes that fit you would be nice.

You turn to leave. The farmer makes a half cut off sound, but does not say anything else. You move through the town swiftly, aiming for the shortest route to the road that leads up towards the monastery. Some townspeople catch sight of you, but you pay them no mind. It isn’t a long journey up the mountain, but it isn’t a short one either. You have rested for long enough – it is time for action.

Nothing is like you remember. The marketplace is crushed, stone dust everywhere. It feels especially empty without the merchants there hawking their wares. Mindful of the warning of thieves, you keep an eye out for any sparks of life that you do not recognise. There are definitely some about, but they seem clustered towards the back of the monastery. It is easy to slip into your old room, and close the door behind you.

It has been ransacked. The mattress on the bed is missing, and the bedframe looks like it has been used for a fire that was set right there in the middle of the room. The curtains are missing, but when you open one of your drawers your own handwriting meets you. You huff as you shuffle through lesson plans, some tests you never got around to marking, and several notes on the direction you wanted to take some students. The next drawer over is empty – the papers inside it must have been used for kindling.

Your wardrobe is mostly intact. Your spare pair of boots is gone, as well as most of your cloaks, but enough remains that you can patch together an outfit out of it. There is no armour, but you slide on a pair of undergarments that actually fit you, and layer it with a leggings and longer tunic. There are a few pouches and pairs of socks that you remember owning, so you take those as well. You leave your feet bare, though. If you cut yourself you can simply heal the damage, and you won’t ruin the socks if you need them for anything else.

You can’t find any of your spare gloves, but you do find a belt from Sylvain, a pair of earrings that Dorothea gifted you, and a necklace from Hilda. You put the belt and the necklace on, and pocket the earrings – you do not know if you will be returning here, and you do not want to lose what you could keep.

You also find the pouch of your teeth that you had hidden at the back of your wardrobe, behind the extra blankets. They still hum with power, even after all of these years. You put them in your belt, and take one of the remaining cloaks. It isn’t your preferred one, but that was lost with your usual armour and the rest of your preferred clothes in the battle. You feel a pang in your chest – your father had picked those out for you. You consciously take a breath, just to feel human again for that second, and then you let your shoulders drop. These clothes are functional, fit you, and will allow you to move in a pinch if you need to fight any of the bandits. They will do.

You check the rest of your room over for anything else you may have missed, but find nothing. You were never one to hoard physical possessions, and you had taken most of them to battle, and lost them there. You could take the lesson plans that you had found, but you remember what is in most of them, anyway.

You carefully check out the other rooms that are nearby in the hopes of finding some shoes. Most of the rooms have been completely destroyed – Annette’s is still pristine, a barrier protecting it from any unwanted entry even all these years later. You place your hand on it, but decide not to break it. Annette is unlikely to have any shoes that fit you.

You get lucky in Felix’s room – it’s been rummaged through, but not completely wrecked. There are two spare pairs of shoes in his wardrobe, and you try them on. You put two pairs of socks on, and lace up the boots. You turn a few steps around his room, and don’t feel too off put. These will do.

Appearance sorted, you close your eyes and reach out, searching for the tags that you placed on your students so long ago, even though it feels recent. Where are they?

You smile as you find one. Of course that’s where he would be.

You head towards the new dawn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Probably more spoopy Byleth in the future, so keep an eye out for that 👀


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